Michael
by Zekia1102
Summary: Michael struggles in a world where even the sky is suppressing and Eyes watch constantly from their glinting sockets. She has all but decided that it is better to live on her knees than die on her feet when a sudden event forces her hand. This is an original short story written as an assignment and all constructive criticism is welcome.


AN: This might be the first complete short story I have ever written. I based it solely on what I have learnt in history class and some personal experiences.

**Michael**

The steam from the engine enveloped us as we entered the tunnel. Passengers reluctantly slid their windows shut, already missing the fresh air of the country. Michael made her way through the compartments, checking tickets and attempting to give reassuring smiles to first time passengers. You could tell who they were because the exuberant expressions they'd sported while speeding through the farm lands had changed into pinched expressions of fear and mistrust as they entered the dark tunnel that lead to the Main Station of City 88.

The dank smell that permeated all of the tunnels of City 88 had already begun to leach into the train, despite the railway's best attempts to seal the cabins. An engineer had once mentioned to her that the damp came from the old tunnels, the ones built before they knew how to properly seal them from the effects of being under the water table.

She checked her smile in a window, her ghostly reflection shimmering with the moving tunnel behind it. The pale florescent lighting brought out the shadows under her eyes and made her dark hair look even darker. She tried out her smile and was pleased that it looked more like a shy smile than a pained grimace. At least today it did.

She passed by Thomas in the main corridor and he gave her his own smile.

"Hey" he muttered, trying to deepen his young voice. "Hello Thomas" she responded tiredly but attempted to be polite. She waited patiently for him to respond, his fingers wringing a corner of his uniform jacket, still trying to pluck up the courage to carry on their routine.

"I have half an hour before my next train. Do you want to go get some-"

"I've got to pick up William." He paused as if to collect his thoughts, more like collect his pride.

"How about Saturday?"

"Sorry, I can't."

His face twisted, causing his thin moustache to contort on his face. There were a few more tense moments before he mumbled a quick

"Um, alright. I guess I'll see you around."

And walked off down the corridor, his shoulders a little lower than they had been before. The guilt twisted in her chest. He was sweet but she knew that she'd only hurt them both if she humoured him. That was lying and he deserved better than lying.

Later she took off her work jacket in a toilet cubicle deep in the bowels of the station and put on her civilian jacket. This one had her own personal code of numbers stitched on the front and back while her work jacket had her employee code, shorter for the convenience of the passengers in case they needed to memorise it to make a complaint. Her nose wrinkled at the suffocating smell of urine and oil in a confined airless space as she moved through the back corridors of the station until she came into the near blinding light of the Main Station.

She paused and dragged in a few lungfuls of relatively fresh air. The country train always spoilt her. After breathing the clear air of the country where you couldn't feel the grime passing though your lungs the air of City 88 seemed intolerable. That's why she wanted to take William out there. Next week was his birthday and she planned on treating him to a rare excursion outside of their block. After a quick glance at the huge clock mounted above the ticket booths she realised that she'd have to pick him up from the Old lady's shop.

She paused at a crossing and remembered that last time she'd been there with William. He'd been grinning his head off at something as usual.

"Watcha smiling about?" she asked him lightly and couldn't help but grin at him in return even if he couldn't see it. His curls were getting long again but they helped to hide his milky eyes. They stood out and that was the last thing they needed.

"I just heard this old man complain' about how they've set up some new Eyes here. Even more than last time. He said you won't be able to fart without Them knowing." The smile slipped off her face and she gave his hand a firm squeeze.

"Don't talk like that. We can't afford to talk like that." His little face twisted into a confused scowl.

"Then why can he?"

"He can't either, he was just being silly. Where'd you hear him anyway?" She needed to keep him away from people like that, although technically she was one of those people. She just didn't go around advertising it.

"The Old lady's shop. He came in complain to about how hard it is to arrange for his daughter's wedding and then he and the old lady started complaining about other stuff and it went on, and on , and on..." at this point he started lolling his head with every 'and on'.

Well the old lady was the only person kind enough to let a blind boy take up a corner in her shop when he couldn't be picked up in time from school. It was the closest to babysitting she could get.

"What does that have to do with you smiling? They have special places for people who smile at nothing."

"Yeah, I know. That's where our mums and dads were sent. They kept smiling at nothing. Nothing to smile about, nothing to fight for, that's what the Carers said."

A chill went though Michael and she gave a quick glace around. A lady a few feet away was giving them a warm smile at William's antics. She hadn't heard him yet but that didn't mean she wouldn't. She hated hearing how he sometimes talked about the end of The Coalition and the start of their lives. Things like that shouldn't be normal for seven year olds. They had to change the subject.

"So why were you smiling?" the paranoia was starting to set in and she tried not to show it. The skin at the back of her neck crawled and the hand not holding William's twitched, wanting to hold the comforting weight of the gun concealed in her vest.

"Well, They want to control everything, that's why I like to smile. I get to show whoever's watching that they can't control happiness." She paused at that. Hey, d'you reckon there's always someone watching? That'd be boring. Imagine watching all the Eyes in the city. D'you reckon they fall asleep? D'ya think..." and of he went again. It was funny how William managed to hide his understanding of the world behind big eyed innocence. It got very disconcerting at times.

The sharp beeping of the crossing made her jump and she sprinted across the street. She managed to glance up once and give a small grin at one of the Eyes mounted under a traffic light. There were more cameras. Their clear irises glinted in the watery sunlight, flashing a warning to anyone who dared look them in the eye. Some were planted proudly on shop corners, their white shells standing out against the grey of the buildings as they swivelled occasionally as if to remind passersby that a real eye was watching them as well.

Some were a little more discrete. She remembered her horror when she realised that an Eye was placed in the corner of one of the train's lavatories. It'd been cunningly placed under one of the automatic air fresheners, a place where no one normally dared to look unless they wanted to be sprayed in the face by a sickly sweet perfume. One of her first jobs in the Station was to clean the trains, a job she worked her hardest to get out of once she realised how much she was being watched. Well, watched more than usual.

Sometimes she got angry enough to contemplate trying to restart The Coalition but whenever she saw William's bright grin and watched his wobbling movements she knew she couldn't. She couldn't leave him. She couldn't endanger him like that. Her parents' friends would've called her a coward but she had learned young that standing up to defend those you loved was not always the right choice. Sometimes picking your battles was the right choice and in this case it was keeping them alive and well. Her parents' disappearance had taught her that.

As she sidestepped a hole in the pavement she glanced up at the sky. It was always overcast, the greyish clouds had a tinge of green from the gases of the City. It was a repressive blanket, a constant reminder that you couldn't move, couldn't see out of their world.

She rounded the corner to her block and made her way towards the shop. A chill was starting to spread through the air but her chest warmed a bit as she thought more about William and how he'd chatter on to her about his latest "girlfriend" or the latest propaganda story they'd been told. She always told him to just play along when they did things like that. The Authorities had allowed them to be reassimilated into the City when their rebel leading parents had been sent Away. They needed to stay under their radar, even if it meant enduring painful sessions of lies and the sickening looks of devotion, some true, some not, on the faces of those around them.

She was now walking along the walls of William's school, the standard cream walls displaying an impressive collection of grime but not graffiti. No one did graffiti unless they wanted their hands broken. She remembered when one boy had tried tagging his name on a train, trying to prove his daring to an equally idiotic group of friends. She'd just checked their tickets with one of their mothers, a frazzled looking thing who looked like she had once attempted to control them. When she returned to that cabin the mother had gone and one of the boy had pulled out a black marker pen.

"Oi, oi, oi, what should it say?" the other boys screwed up their features, the thrill of the moment obvious on their pimply, out of proportion faces. "I know, I know!" one yelled and bumbled over to his friend and whispered something profane into his ear. The one with the pen barked out a laugh "Epic, man, epic." She bit back a snort of laughter and the boy's attention swivelled to her.

"Hey lady, what's ya name?"

She studiously ignored them checking the ticket of a businessman that had fallen asleep.

"Ay, I asked you something lady. You're supposed to be serving me." She held back her retort and moved on down the compartment.

"Oi, you work on a train. Do ya like ridin-" just before he could finish the crude sounding sentence a calm voice rang out.

"What are you planning to do with that pen?"

She stiffened at the cool lilt and flicked her eyes up to the window. A Carer had made his way down the train. Officially, they sometimes rode on the trains to keep the peace and protect travellers, but everyone knew that it was just so they could stop people connecting, stop them talking and organising. This Carer was young and quite tall, his hair cut uniformly short. Everything about him was the same off white colour as his uniform except for his eyes. He would've been quite handsome if it weren't for his eyes. The hard glint showed he was a Carer just as much as the stripes on his back, the barcodes that allowed him to be identifiable to the System but anonymous to everyone else.

"What were you going to do with that pen?"

She saw the boys look at one another, shocked that they were being challenged. The silence stretched on as the boys decided how much earning their pride was worth. The one with the pen decided to use some misplaced courage and said "We're just asking that lady what her name was so we could write it on the-"

She averted her eyes when the Carer struck out. There were two cracks and sickening squelches, followed by a yowl and gasps from the other boys. She looked back up, pretending to be checking the man's luggage. The boy with the pen had stuffed his hands into his arm pits, tears flowing freely down his face. The rest of his troupe tried to cram their bodies into the seat lining of their booth as the Carer leaned in and whispered something to them. He'd gone for the quickest method and pulled the boys fingers back so far they'd popped out. It was easy enough to fix, but a painful and effective lesson.

He took the pen from the table where it'd fallen in the scuffle and walked down the aisle to where Michael stood.

"You should confiscate this. We do not tolerate graffiti and the spread of unauthorised information along the Cities lines." She stole a quick breath before she turned and tried to look as meek as possible.

"I'm sorry sir; they must've snuck it in. I'll tell my manager as soon as I can."

She lifted her palm up to receive the pen and the young man's hand took a little too long retracting back. It was warm but a few seconds ago it had been popping a boy's fingers out with a practised ease. Those fingers could've easily been William's.

"You look familiar."

She inwardly winced. Her parents had been on a lot of wanted lists. She thought of Thomas and how he softened whenever she gave him a smile and decided to try it out now.

"I have a bit of a common face." She said trying to look as shy as she could, the revulsion in her stomach roiling as he smiled back.

"Oh no, it's hard to find a pretty face like yours here." He walked back along the corridor, an extra bounce in his step.

The boys were still in shock and she glanced at them and then at the woman who had been with them. She had sensibly decided to stay in the connecting car and peer through the door until the Carer had gone before rushing in to tend to the boys. Michael hated how they had their own version of normalcy. Intimidating and threatening was alright but some silly boys trying to be men got their fingers popped out. She'd glanced at the woman before leaving. She was staring at his back as if she could memorise the stripes on his back. It was pointless. She couldn't and if she could it wasn't like she could report him. Who would report a Carer to the Carers? That was just asking to be sent away.

Michael picked up her pace as she drew nearer to the shop. It was at the corner and sold ration books and basic goods. The aging woman behind the counter listened to the radio, it was turned to a station that played music that sounded old and screechy to their ears but what must've been quite lively in her day. That was one of the reasons William liked her.

She glanced at the old posters lining the walls of the buildings she passed. All were scratched and weathered so much that their messages had become impossible to read. She flicked her eyes forward again in case she walked into something and then returned them to the wall. After years of working on the trains she had developed tunnel vision. It was hard not too when the blurring images of the landscape and tunnels never failed to make her sick. Her vision focussed on the centre, everything else a blurry mesh of nothing.

As she rounded another corner she flicked her eyes forward again. Then she saw it. The blank white van that signalled a Carer was about. It was outside the shop. She sprinted down the street and skid to a stop at the shop before the corner. She peered in through the grimy windows and saw the old lady. She looked as white as her hair, her expression so strained it might crack. Next she saw a Carer inspecting some shelves and ration books. Then she saw the creamy white back of a uniform leaning over a corner, holding something bright in a gloved hand. That was William's corner. Those were William's legs. Suddenly, it was not just the grime on the window tinting her vision. She yanked open the door and the little bell above tingled violently.

"What are you doing!" she demanded and stormed to the corner where the Carer was. She recognised the bright thing as the book she'd gotten for William as a toddler. It was about a farm and although the bright colours were useless to him but he could feel the soft cloth and when she read it to him he could run his stubby fingers along the textured materials that went with the story.

The Carer reeled about and fixed her with a beady stare. This Carer had been on the force a while as although his uniform was as impeccable as any other, his breath was stale and sweet with alcohol and his baton was well worn.

"Who are you to raise your voice at me girl?"

He was barely taller than her but used it to his advantage, his partner quickly coming to his side. "Michael!" Williams little voice was cracked with fear but hope was laced through it.

"You know this little man?" The terse question was followed by a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, he is my brother." The Carers exchanged a glance, trying to decide how to get the most out of this turn of events. The elder one decided to barrel on and drew himself to his full height before saying

"He's carrying an unauthorised book. We must confiscate it." He held up the book, the cheerful colours everything his uniform wasn't.

"No!" William's little shriek was quietened by a kick to his chair from the second Carer. Her nails were biting into her palms, the stinging keeping her focused, making sure the red haze in her mind didn't put them in any more trouble.

"How is it dangerous? It's about farm animals!"

The older man's chapped lips turned into a malicious grin as he watched the scene before him. "It's not an official children's book. All books must be printed by the Authority; they must speak of the Authority's deeds and teach children good values, not this mindless drivel."

The second Carer, a weedy looking man with a snivelling voice decided then to speak up, "If you were a good sister, you'd realise we are trying to help your brother. Or maybe you don't believe in the Authority? Do you think that a little piggy has more knowledge than the Authority?"

She looked at them disbelievingly. They took her look as confusion and began laughing. Great bouts of foul smelling, unfair laughter.

"See little girl, don't questions things you don't understand. The Authority knows. They always know."

The last sentence had changed the mockery to a threat. Their eyes fixated on her face, peering through their beer addled brains for any hint of betrayal.

"No sirs, I just didn't want to see my brother so upset." Her tone was clipped but polite enough and they took it at face value.

With a smug smile the first one folded the little book and said "Alright, then you won't mind us taking this down to the incinerator-"

"NO!"

William leapt up and managed to grab a hold of the Carer's arm. His face was red and tears had already made little tracks down his face. His hands slipped off the material and he ended up on the floor. He bounced back up, reaching blindly for his book. The Carer let out a grunt and pulled back the arm. For a moment Michael thought how unnecessary it was to pull the book away when it was already so far out of William's reach. Then the arm started moving forward until with an almighty THWACK he backhanded the boy into the shelves.

She may have heard the old lady give out a terrified squeak but she didn't notice. It all happened too fast. As soon as she saw his small body crumple on the floor she reached for her gun, nestled near her heart, and let out two quick shots. One embedded itself in the wall by the Carer's head but the second sunk deep into his partner's thigh. The weedy man let out a strangle yell and fell to the ground, a red spot blooming on his leg. The Carer didn't even glance at his partner but stared and her, and odd mixture of shock and smug glee on his face. He reached for his buzzer and hit a button, calling more Carers to the area. Then he moved.

She'd had one last chance to glance at William before she bolted for the door. She hoped the old lady was fond enough of him to take care of him and forgive her for all the trouble she'd just caused in her shop. She ran back up the street, past the school and then down a side street. Numbly she thought that if ever there was a time to escape it would be now when the light was fading and the street lamps hadn't come on yet. Her lungs began to burn as she jumped over boxes and whatever else was in the alleys. She didn't want to look.

Her legs began to tighten but whatever she did, she wasn't able to lose them. There would always be a flash of white at the edge of her vision and she realised that more had joined the chase. As she slid around another corner she recognised the alley, it used to be her short cut to work, back when she had just gotten a job as a track monitor. She counted the doors she passed. At the third she turned sharply and used her momentum to yank the door open before snapping it shut behind her.

She kept running, using her memory to guide her along the dank, dusty corridors of the old station. A few seconds later she heard them open the door with a clang, its sound like knife through the ear in the confined concrete space. She tried to keep her breathing as quiet as she could, every draw of air was like claws running down the inside of her chest but she couldn't stop. She recognised the dusty light from an air vent and realised the stair well was near.

Steeling herself she ran her hand across the wall, hoping to find the handle soon. When her hands found it she let out a shuddery gasp before forcing it open and half running, half falling down the stairs. They were further away now, their shouts turning ghostly in the closed space. She kept running, bumping into the old desks and chairs that used to be used by mechanics to furnish their break room. Then she entered a room that smelt so strongly of oil and rust it made her gag. She was nearly there. Michael felt in the darkness for the last door, the one to the tunnels. She could hear the Carers coming down the stairs, their threats and pants drawing closer. With a click the latch freed the door and she slid it back, the long, drawn out metallic sound echoing in the gloom of the abandoned tracks.

"Here she is!"

She bolted down, not caring how her shins twinged as she landed. She ran.

The dank, damp air whooshed past her face and would've felt almost like a caress if it hadn't been for her blind terror. Her legs were getting stiff as she pumped them into the darkness, hoping that those engineers had been as thorough in their work as when they'd organise morning tea. Sometimes she saw the soft glow of a sign, indicating which line she was on, how far along she was on it and what direction she was headed. If she took the next right she might be able to lose them in the darkness.

The heavy footfalls of the Carers had begun to fade away. Despite their numbers most of them had probably been middle aged men, forced to semi-retire in one of the poorest neighbourhoods of the City where they'd earned the joy of picking on the weak. The turn off was only a few hundred metres away according to the last sign she'd passed and the increasing dampness of the tunnel. She stuck out her hand and winced as she touched the slimy coating on the tunnel wall. Just a few more metres she reassured herself. The pounding behind her had nearly faded when her hand met air and she found the passage.

She went round the corner and kept going, distancing herself from her body. Her body could repair itself. She pounded her boots into the gravel, being careful not to trip on the tracks. After a minute she realised she couldn't hear them anymore, they seemed to have given up. She turned right one more time for luck before breathing a sigh of relief.

She hadn't run that far at all, only about a kilometre and a half into the tunnel system. She could easily make her way back to one of the other tunnels. The route she'd taken hadn't been that hard yet they hadn't followed her. This worried her almost as much as if they were right beside her. Then she smelt something that sent a chill down her body.

Fresh air.

Moving air.

She was in a live tunnel. Quickly she replayed her escape in her head. There weren't any live lines at this level anymore. At least, not when she used to use them. Then realisation hit her. They'd extended the lines. Those Carers would've known where they were going with their fancy gadgets. They would've known when to stop running.

The air current was getting stronger. Quickly she remembered the tunnel she was taking. There was another tunnel up ahead, connected to this one. If she could reach it she could avoid the train. She started running. The darkness was so absolute she wondered why her eyes bothered to stay open.

The clawing was starting up again and her chest was tightening the way it usually did after some of the dreams she got at night. The air was passing her now and she could hear the rhythmic sounds of its outdated wheels on the tracks.

She stuck her hand out, feeling the curve of the tunnel. She was nearly there.

The tunnel started glowing, at first a dim pale light which grew. It grew far too fast for her liking. She dared to look up a head and saw the dark hole of the other tunnel a few meters away.

She could make it. Her heart seized with hope as she breathed in the acrid smell of smoke and grease. She pushed her legs, the light almost blinding. Her fingers closed around the corner as she heard the whistle of the country train.

Then there was nothing, just blackness.

The burning had gone as well.

AN: Well, how was it? I want to talk about the symbols and references I used but I am interested to see what you might make of it as you have a fresh pair of eyes. I apologise for any and all similarities to the Hunger Games as I had only watched the movies before writing this and later cringed at how similar the story might seem to some. I honestly didn't intend it to be that way. I'm only mentioning this at the end because I did not want you to be comparing the two together while you were reading. I apologise for any grammatical mistakes. After rereading something so much you can't see the woods from the trees so please point them out if you spot any and I will try to fix them.

Most of all, thank you for giving your time to read this!


End file.
